


You Can Plan on Me

by Carlough



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Canon Era, Christmas, Heavy Artillery Holiday Exchange 2020, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, a solemn reflection on the meaning of a holiday that turns much less solemn, in a very gentle 1940s farmboy way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carlough/pseuds/Carlough
Summary: Christmas doesn't feel like Christmas, when you're freezing in a foxhole surrounded by the German army in the Ardennes, but Shifty and Tab manage to make some Christmas magic of their own.
Relationships: Shifty Powers/Floyd Talbert
Comments: 19
Kudos: 39
Collections: Heavy Artillery Holiday Exchange 2020





	You Can Plan on Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [masongirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/masongirl/gifts).



> I received the prompt "Shifty Powers/Floyd Talbert: anything festive. Would love it if it included antlers" for masongirl, and I love this pairing so much that I wanted to give it a try. I know this isn't quite the interpretation of the prompt that you were expecting but I was excited to write this in the canon era and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Title from "I'll Be Home For Christmas" because WWII soldiers at Christmas, I couldn't not.

He wasn't expecting much. There wasn't any reason to: they'd been short on provisions before they walked into the Ardennes, and the situation had only worsened when the German counteroffensive cut off their supply lines. They were running short on food, ammunition, winter clothing, and hope.

There was no expectation that December 25th in a foxhole would somehow differ from December 24th, and yet, Shifty still found himself disappointed.

It felt dumb: their proud D-Day cries of being home by Christmas had gradually dissolved as summer turned to fall turned to grey Belgian winter, water seeping slowly into the cracks in their morale and freezing, expanding, weakening it at its foundations.

They were all well aware that they would not be having Christmas with their families, nor would they be stateside any time soon, and as soon as they'd received their orders to take the line in the Ardennes, they knew that they likely wouldn't even have a broken roof over their heads by the 25th.

If Shifty's time in the woods near Bastogne had taught him anything thus far, it was that he was lucky to have his gun, his life, and his buddies next to him – not necessarily in that order.

He shouldn't be sore over missing out on Christmas when many people had it a lot worse.

And he wasn't sore, not really, not the way some of the guys were griping about missing out on their mama's Christmas ham, or how they'd kill to be gifted one of their great aunt's itchy homemade sweaters right about now. Everyone may have thought Shifty was some wilting daisy – the type of kid they'd call "too innocent for his own good" if they hadn't seen firsthand how deadly a cool head and country marksmanship could be in battle – but he had his wits about him. He knew there would be no holly and mistletoe this Christmas, and he'd long ago made his peace with it.

He imagined that the Lord would forgive him for missing the Christmas service this year, but still sent up a brief prayer of apology all the same.

Shifty had made his peace with missing the trappings of Christmas, but he hadn't expected it to be...like this. He knew Christmas was the same as any other day, when you got right down to it – Liebgott had been loudly informing them all that now they got to experience "Jewish Christmas," which he defined as "the same as Jewish Christmas Eve and Jewish Easter," which was to say, "the same as every other goddamn day of the year."

And yet, there was some part of him that woke up on that grey morning, so dark and monochromatic that it was hard to tell that the sun had indeed risen once again, and expected more.

Because Christmas wasn't just about a set of traditions or actions, wasn't just presents and a tree and dinner and church service. It was about the _feeling_ , that special sort of glow inside and out that turned snow that was once an irritant into _Christmas_ snow, the same feeling that one got when they saw their family on Christmas, even if they'd just seen them a week ago. It was different, at Christmas. Everything felt a little more sacred, a little more magical, a little more...just _more_.

There was nothing _more_ about December 25th, 1944. Shifty woke to the same grey dawn as every other morning in the Ardennes and brushed a light layer of snow off of his rifle. He was sure he couldn't have been asleep long, but time became somewhat immaterial when sleep was counted in heartbeats instead of hours. It made it hard to keep track of time when even the day was so dark, so colorless. He couldn't help but wonder if this was what Belgium always looked like, this washed out absence of color. Surely it must have had its green season too, where flowers bloomed and birds sang and animals drank from clear, unfrozen streams, but that world did not exist in Shifty's experience of Belgium.

He dreaded to imagine that they'd be trapped in these woods long enough to see it.

The day dragged on without fanfare. A few of the guys tried to sing a few rounds of carols before they were resoundingly told to shut up by the upper brass.

"This isn't the Great War," they hissed, "There's no armistice. You sing, they shoot, end of story."

It just about set the tone for the day.

Things were thankfully quiet when Shifty took his turn watching the line. He got the impression that even in the midst of an offensive that the Germans viewed themselves as already winning, the guys on the ground didn't actually want to spend their Christmas firing guns.

Though, he wasn't sure how they'd be able to tell it was Christmas either. They didn't seem like the most festive people, and he certainly heard no singing from their quarter.

He startled when a pair of boots slid into the trench next to him, followed by the rest of a smirking Floyd Talbert.

"How's it going, Shift?" Tab wet his lips and smiled. He did that a lot, more than a man had a right to in a place like this. Some said that war made them question their faith, but it was the anomaly of Floyd Talbert that made Shifty question his.

"Not much," he murmured, casting his eyes down briefly before setting them resolutely on the treeline ahead of them. "Things have been quiet. No movement since I've been here."

He didn't voice his suspicions that perhaps the Germans were taking it easy for the holiday, because he didn't want it to be true. He didn't _want_ for them to make pretend in a place like this, to act like the magic was there when it was just another grey, grey, _grey_ day.

Maybe Liebgott was right: maybe if they treated it just like any other day, which it _was_ , then they could tell themselves that there wasn't a Christmas in 1944, and they wouldn't have to feel disappointed.

Shifty didn't want to think that the warmth of Christmas came from the physical trappings – that wasn't at all what they talked about at church, after all – but here he was in Belgium without any of those traditions, and he was freezing.

Maybe he'd been wrong about war not testing his faith, because Bastogne and the Ardennes sure were doing a number on him.

He startled again when a hand landed on his shoulder; he hadn't known how cold he really was until the warmth of Tab's gloved palm started seeping through the thin layers of his clothing. He knew the warmth could only be in comparison to the cold air around them, because no amount of gloves could keep all of them from feeling like their hands were about to freeze off.

"You okay? Looked like I lost you there for a sec."

Tab was still smiling, but his eyes were painfully sincere in a way that made Shifty want to squirm under the weight of his gaze. He never wanted to be a bother, and making someone concerned for him certainly wasn't working towards that goal.

And then Shifty wanted to squirm for an entirely different reason, because Tab pinched his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, that unconscious habit he always fell into when he was concerned or pensive, and Shifty's eyes were definitely no longer on the line.

"It's, uh, it's nothing," Shifty stuttered. He did his best to muster up some cheer, form his face into the sweet smile that Tab would expect, but he suspected it landed somewhere closer to a grimace, because Tab's face shifted into a look of understanding.

"It just doesn't feel right, right?" he said knowingly. "Christmas shouldn't feel like this. It should just be..."

He trailed off into a grimace of his own, shrugging at his own loss for words. When he settled against the wall of the foxhole, his shoulder pressed up against Shifty's, a welcome line of warmth against the ever-present bone-chilling cold.

"More," Shifty said softly, eyes tilting up to that godforsaken grey sky, now steadily darkening into evening. "It should be more."

Tab sighed, something quiet and soul-deep. "Yeah. All the boys are talking about what they miss most, and I haven't quite been able to put my finger on what it is for me. I mean, of course I miss my folks, and my family, but I've been missing them for years. It's not our first Christmas in the service."

Shifty hummed. Christmas on an army base wasn't exactly the stuff out of a Bing Crosby song, but it wasn't all that bad. Usually there was a tree somewhere, and the brass would allow a big holiday dinner – real food, not the glorified rations that got mass-produced the rest of the year. And there'd be music and dancing and drinks – oh boy, would there be drinks. And usually there would be gifts, poorly wrapped and only the type of gifts that one fella would get another knowing that it was nothing that they'd ever want, where the real joy was in getting to watch everyone's reactions when they opened the box to see what had been inflicted on them.

He had a distinct memory of Tab opening a box of prophylactics to the hysteric laughter of their buddies, and Tab hadn't even missed a beat, just given that damnable smirk and tugged at his lip and said, "Thanks boys, I was running low!"

Tab hadn't turned red at all, but Shifty thought he'd turned damn near red enough for the both of them. He'd told himself that if he was turning red he had no reason to be worried, because green was supposed to be what you turned when you were jealous, right? And Shifty hadn't a thought in his head about what Tab would need all of those prophylactics for, or who he would use them with.

The same year, Shifty had received some sort of handmade cloth reindeer antlers sewn to a wire headband, surely purchased from some housewife off-base because there wasn't a single man at Toccoa who knew how to sew more than a button, if they even knew that much.

Shifty had put them on to much fanfare, and Bull, evidently the gifter, had grinned around his cigar and said, "Sorry, Shift, I couldn't resist, you're just too cute."

Seeing as Bull had been gifted an actual box of rocks entitled "a replica of your head," scrawled in what was unmistakably Johnny Martin's handwriting, Shifty had figured that he'd take the antlers with grace.

And after the boys had gotten their laughs and moved on to the next victim, Shifty remembered Tab looking at him over his box of condoms and antibacterial creams and winking. "Looking good, Shifty!"

He was sure then that he'd gone as red as the hat jauntily perched on Tab's head, and yet, it was a fond memory. It had been a good Christmas. They hadn't had their families, but they'd definitely been merry.

"Maybe it's just hard to be merry in a place like this," he said aloud now. He knew it was the truth: nobody could stare out at this utter desolation, craters from artillery spotting the forest floor, trees half-shattered into sharp, blackened spires, and shadows in the snow where the mind remembered a fallen comrade long after the body had been removed, and feel peace.

Comfort and joy came to die in a place like the Ardennes.

"Wouldn't expect that from you," Tab said after a long moment, but it was almost like he said it as a formality; he didn't sound surprised.

Shifty hummed again. "Wouldn't you?"

He refused to turn and look, but he swore he could feel Tab's eyes burning a brand into his cold, chapped cheek.

"Yeah," Tab finally said, voice slightly hoarse, "I guess I would."

He shifted then, pressed himself a bit more firmly to Shifty's side, and stretched out his legs in front of him. It absolutely was not a position to sit in if one was planning to spring to action at a moment's notice, but then, Shifty was pretty sure Tab didn't come out here because he was assigned to watch the line.

"You're not like everyone thinks you are." Tab's voice was conversational, as if it was a part of everyday interactions to pick apart your fellow soldier's personality. "I mean, you are, but you're also just..."

He trailed off, and when Shifty cut him a sideways glance, he was biting his lip and frowning, as if he'd just realized that he'd talked himself into a corner. Shifty couldn't entirely relate; he never talked unless he knew what he was going to say first. He'd been that way since he was a child, observant, planful.

"Too many thoughts for your tongue to say," his mother had always teased. Shifty just liked to think that he only expressed the best ones.

Tab seemed to have the opposite problem, putting his voice first and his brain second. He was like that with most of his decisions, a little impulsive, a little headstrong, but it looked good on him. He could steamroll someone with charm and wit and a well-placed smile, smooth over any mistakes he made by putting his foot in his mouth. Everyone loved him; he was easy to love, and he had the reputation to back it up.

It wasn't anything special, to love Floyd Talbert.

It was a lot more meaningful if he loved you back.

Shifty belonged to one of those categories, and he imagined it was the one that hurt a lot more. But it was an old hurt, the same hurt he'd felt since he was fourteen and caught himself watching Jimmy McSwain too closely during math class, and a hurt he imagined he'd carry with him for the rest of his life.

The Bible did say a lot about personal sacrifices and having one's own cross to carry, and Shifty figured that this was his.

Loving Floyd Talbert was the sweetest pain he'd ever known.

And it was a pain that he imagined he'd take to the grave.

He didn't expect Tab's hand to land on his knee this time, nor for it to linger, to just sit there, big and warm and sure. Shifty dragged his gaze slowly away from the trees in front of them, down to Tab's hand, and then traced a path up Tab's arm and to his face.

Tab's expression was serious, but there was a hint of a smile curling his lips – _fond_.

"You're like this," Tab said, voice hushed, as if he'd just discovered an exotic butterfly and was afraid that speaking too loudly would scare it away. "They think you're all just shucks and smiles but you're...quiet, sometimes. Solemn."

Shifty rolled the word around in his mouth, trying to decide if he liked the taste of it. "I don't think most people would call that a good thing," he said quietly.

The noise Tab made was loud in its dismissiveness. "Most people wouldn't know a meaningful thought if it shot them in the ass. It doesn't mean sad. It just means...thoughtful. Sincere."

He smirked then, clearly pleased with himself, and said, "Majestic."

Shifty had to snort at that, smiling down at Tab's hand on his knee.

"Ain't nothing majestic about a country boy from Virginia."

"But there is something about you," Tab countered. "You've just got this...air about you, makes it feel like everything is calm even when it's not. Like everything is going to be okay."

It was something far too revealing to be stated between two men, especially in a place like this, a place that destroyed delicate feelings and small, hopeful things. Shifty should have turned away, should have turned Tab away, should have thought that this was a very unchristian conversation between two men on Christ's day itself.

But everything was a little different this Christmas, and that meant that Shifty took his hand nearest to Tab off of his rifle and sat it unassumingly in his lap and said, "I don't often feel like everything is going to be okay."

The air between them felt charged now, and it definitely was not that calm air that Tab thought Shifty carried with him. It felt tense, the way the atmosphere got before a lightning storm, everything reaching a boiling point and waiting to shatter.

Shifty wanted so badly to see it shatter.

Tab was unperturbed. That ever-present smile was a little knowing, a little teasing, as he leaned in somehow even closer and said, "That's your own personal magic, Shifty. You make people feel better. You make things feel normal even when they're not, and you always have the right thing to say. Makes people want to stay close to you, make sure they don't lose you."

He may have been looking at Shifty's lips, but Shifty couldn't tell, because he was too busy watching Tab's hand carefully reach for his own, fingers curling over Shifty's slowly enough that Shifty had ample time to pull away, to throw him off and stutter and scold and call him disgusting and send him away.

Perhaps he should have done that, but he didn't want to. If Christmas couldn't exist in a space like this, then perhaps sins didn't have to either.

Shifty did move his hand, but it was only to turn it so his gloved palm was facing up, so that Tab's fingers could interlace with his own. He could feel the pressure and warmth of the touch, and he had the inane thought that if he stared hard enough at the cotton material covering their hands, he could somehow feel the texture of Tab's skin against his too.

His heart was beating a hasty pace in his chest, and his lungs were a startled jackrabbit sprinting right behind it. They were on the precipice of something that could destroy their friendship, their careers, or finally soothe that ache that Shifty had carried for so long, that he'd planned to carry for the rest of his life.

And maybe it was because his blood was coursing through his veins and his thoughts were moving even faster, but the words tumbled unbidden from Shifty's lips before he could swallow them back down. "I know you – you _lose_ a lot of people, and I know that you and they don't mind that a whole lot and the boys would likely say it's just the natural course of being a red-blooded man but I – I can't, I mean I don't-"

The words disappeared as fast as they came, leaving the thought hanging there like the fog of their breath in the frosty winter air, broken off, unfinished and painfully awkward. He may very well have just destroyed the whole thing himself right then with a statement like that, but before he could get himself well and truly panicked, Tab's gloved hand was squeezing his own.

"Hey, it's okay." His voice was slow, soothing, and warm, like the voice one would use to speak to a spooked horse. Shifty felt like one at the moment, twitchy and ready to run. He did not at all feel like the calming presence that Tab had described.

"You're not wrong," Tab said, smile a little chagrinned. "I like people, and they like me, and I don't – I'm not happy to see them go, but it doesn't normally bother me that much. But you..."

He squeezed their hands together again, and his eyes were bright, a blazing warmth Shifty swore he could feel on his face, and he couldn't look away.

"I would never want to lose you, Shifty. You're too precious for that, and I've waited too damn long for you to throw it away now."

Shifty's normally astute brain was like a skipping record, repeating that one line over and over, unable to move past it. "You – for me? You waited for me?"

He wanted to curl up forever in the fondness of Tab's laugh.

"Shifty, I've been trying to win you over since the first day of training camp. I tripped and spilled water all over you and you looked at me with the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen and you apologized to _me_ , and, God, I don't think I'd ever experienced love at first sight before but I think that was it."

It was overwhelming, it was impossible, trying to reconcile those words with what he knew about Floyd Talbert, with what he knew about life, what he knew about sentiments spoken between two men.

"But you – the women-"

Tab pressed Shifty's hand between both of his own now, his gaze never wavering from Shifty's.

"There will never be another woman or man again, if you say you'll have me now. If you'll give me a chance."

Shifty's mind was reeling with the revelation – another _man_ – and with the doubts and misgivings, the reasons why he should be flinching away, should be reporting this to the officers.

But mostly it was overflowing with the emotion, with the suggestion that he didn't have to hurt, that his pain was unnecessary because his feelings were requited, because _Floyd_ wouldn't want him to hurt.

"Floyd," he breathed, because it felt wrong to call him Tab right now, "I can't say – I don't know how these things go, between two men, and in – in a place like this. The way we are."

He couldn't quite string the words together but Floyd heard him all the same, and his face was a picture of relief, of joy.

Of love.

"We'll figure it out together," he said, excited, rushed. "I'll show you, and the rest – we'll figure it out. Just give me a chance, give _us_ a chance."

He was pleading, and Shifty never wanted to see a man like Floyd Talbert beg, not for him. And so he did what his heart wanted him to do, what the moment called for him to do, what his anxiety screamed at him to never do, and he leaned forward and silenced Floyd Talbert with a kiss.

It was a chaste thing, the type of kiss you give someone when you're kissing under the mistletoe in front of your parents, and yet it warmed Shifty like a good glass of whiskey, like thawing in front of a stocking-strewn fireplace after a long day of working in the snow.

When they broke apart, they stayed close, noses nearly touching, helmets pressed together, and that space between them remained charged, but it was quieter now, the dam allowed to break, the lid removed from the pot.

It was peace, a feeling that Shifty had previously thought was unable to exist in the damnable grey of the war in Bastogne.

"At risk of sounding corny," Floyd whispered, "Today might not have felt a lot like Christmas, but you do."

It was incredibly corny, but Shifty couldn't complain when he felt exactly the same way.

They didn't have trees or gifts or church or family or anything much to feel jolly about, but they had this, together, here, and the promise of more, and for a Christmas in the Ardennes in the middle of a war, that was enough.

Shifty closed his eyes, and he smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I spent a while trying to find if anyone from Easy had an account of this Christmas and none of my google searches brought up anything, but I did read some accounts from the 101st and one guy simply said, "There wasn't a Christmas in 1944" and idk it stuck with me.
> 
> I'm [armypeaches on Tumblr](https://armypeaches.tumblr.com/).


End file.
